


of secrets kept

by vanitaslaughing



Series: darkest before dawn [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Heroes to Villains, Hurt No Comfort, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 11:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19317463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanitaslaughing/pseuds/vanitaslaughing
Summary: “It’s too late. Gears in motion. Had I been a better man, I would’ve told them kids about all of this. But no. I didn’t. So now it’s too late and the sacrifice needs a shepherd he can trust. Well, who’s better than the man he usually called uncle when he was half asleep in some hallway?”He didn’t wait for a reply this time.He would apologise to Cid.Later.





	of secrets kept

**Author's Note:**

> as per usual, can in theory be read as a stand-alone
> 
> mind that it goes into early [tu fui, ego eris](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13910043/chapters/32012169) after the segment right after the fall of insomnia; and from there on marches into chapter 13 from a different POV for the last two segments.

“If nobles were allowed to be Glaives and if Glaives were allowed to take higher court functions I would be handing you over to Drautos on a silver platter.”

The flames sizzled out gently. This particular Crownsguard training dummy was low-tier magic-proof, but in the last hour it had taken more of a beating than it should have. Cor watched a bit of charred material fall to the ground as the dagger that had been tossed into it was dismissed from afar. He was frowning as he watched the crystalline sparkles fade along with the smoke.

“I’m… honoured?”

Before Ignis could say anything else, furious steps pounded across the training room. A split second later Prince Noctis had thrown his arms around him from behind—kind of awkward, seeing that Ignis had hit his first growth-spurt and the prince was still ten and very, very small for his age. Not that that was unusual for a Lucis Caelum, were Clarus and the late Aulea to be believed.

“No!” Noctis buried his face in Ignis’ back and fastened his grip on him. “Iggy’s not a Glaive! Iggy’s my advisor. Drautos can’t have him, Cor!”

Ignis gently pried himself out of Noctis’ arms and put a hand on Noctis’ head to ruffle his hair. “Even if I were allowed to leave, I’d turn that offer down, don’t worry Noct.” The kid turned around to pierce Cor with one of his trademark neutral glares. “If you permit me the impudence, might I ask why, Marshal?”

Cor drew a hand across his face; he had completely forgotten that Noctis was grounded after his latest escapade with the four-year-old Iris Amicitia. And Sunday meant that the only thing he would have normally had to do would have been schoolwork—except that Noctis had already finished it on Friday because there was nothing to do for him. How come the royal family worked best when bored out of their mind rather than under pressure? It just didn’t make any sense to him.

And Ignis, well-mannered kid that he was, called his very valid question impudence. Gods above. This kid would be more trouble than Regis would ever have guessed once he got another three years under his belt. Hells, even Cor himself would have been a tame and meek little boy compared to the storm that Ignis Scientia was growing up to be.

But that wasn’t what Ignis had asked. “You rival some of the better Glaives in terms of precision, tactical thinking and magical adaptability while also exhibiting a certain knack for magic that would likely allow you to figure out chain warping.”

Chain warping was something that members of the Crownsguard could simply not do. They could warp in an absolute pinch unless they lacked a talent for it altogether like the Marshal himself, but otherwise only the Glaives were able to chain warp. Ignis should have watched the Glaives train before. Perhaps not enough to see that most of these warps were emergency landings and often led to Glaives losing their lunch, but the boy should have seen them train at least once.

He would fit right in; being all willowy and fast on his feet were it not for the fact he was a descendant of one of the most esteemed families in Insomnia.

But the boy shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t leave His Highness’ side even if His Majesty ordered me to go join the Glaives.”

Cor snorted—a rather uncharacteristic sound that really only escaped him when he was around the children of his friends—Ignis might as well have been a Lucis Caelum. There was a reason for that, but he did not quite like thinking about it too much. “Yes, I figured as much. Go ahead, training session’s over.”

Noctis was already pulling on his friend’s arm to get him away from Cor; the prince looked positively furious. Or perhaps that was him being jealously overprotective. Whichever it was, Cor watched them with his trademark frown on his face.

They were setting these children up for a deep, deep fall should they ever learn of what was truly going on here. Why Ignis received so much education while Noctis was comparatively easy off, even allowed to attend public school now that his injuries were healed and the horrors of that trauma only revisited him in his dreams rather than when he saw as much as a flickering candle. Still, the boy was not the same—and he didn’t even know that in order to do what he promised the girl Lunafreya he would have to die.

The only times the old Noctis, the boy from two years ago, broke through the wall that the kid had built around himself was when the topic went to Ignis or Lunafreya. His replacement and a girl very much on the same death row as him.

Cor closed his eyes.

Trying to get Ignis out of this by making him a Glaive would have been a foolish endeavour anyway. Drautos had definitely voiced interest in the boy considering his natural talent for magic, yes, but there was no way in hell that people would accept the counsel of a Kingsglaive when he could be the late king’s advisor stepping up after the tragic end of the bloodline. As much as Insomnia had changed for the better under Regis there were still so many things that should have been better. But Regis’ focus was always on the future rather than the immediate issues.

Regis always talked about that future as if he knew that he would be dead. As if he knew that he would not die peacefully but drained as his father had had. As if he expected a weapon shoved through his still-beating heart, as if he expected the city to burn around him.

Regis was never wrong when it came to these kinds of things.

Cor dreaded the future—not for his own sake, not even for his king’s sake.

But for the children’s sakes.

* * *

“Albus and Rubina made a mistake—nothing more, nothing less.”

For a pair skilled enough to break into a Magitek Production Facility and return with an infant in one piece they sure had made an idiotic misstep. It also boosted Caligo Ulldor from a slight noble nuisance to a legitimate danger; Albus and Rubina had been specifically trained to infiltrate Niflheim and not raise suspicion. No one had gotten behind them and their little infiltration, their disguises and knowledge about Niflheim at large was on point enough to pass them off as citizens; everything else was expertly made.

Somehow the man had seen through it.

Cor drew a hand across his face with a deep sigh when the man saluted and left.

They were losing the war. They had already been losing the war long before Cor had been born; but unlike most people from beyond the Wall, no matter how poor he wound up being—he had had the privilege of being born in Insomnia. He even made it into the Crownsguard. Before he had made it as far as Marshal, many people believed that commoners would never make it far under the crown.

But they were losing. Hells, Regis wasn’t even attempting it properly.

As long as Noctis lived, it would all be fine. As if the Niffs wouldn’t immediately jump to kill Noctis just to deal a blow to the Wall. They already had once. They would do it again without hesitation.

He made a mental note to tell the Argentums that Albus and Rubina were dead. He might just reach the wife—the husband was a hunter who spent most of his time outside of the city. After all, they had taken in the boy those two had absconded with because they were best friends. They would hear it soon enough and they were, technically, not in service to the crown. They wouldn’t be mad if it wasn’t him who delivered that news. And he seriously did not want to have to deal with Besithia’s little clone. That kid was better off never getting involved with any of this.

“Thrice-damned gods above,” Cor muttered as he left the room to make his more pressing report—the Marshal of the Crownsguard answered to the Captain of the Crownsguard. He needed to tell Clarus once he was out of the council meeting.

* * *

He yanked the lanky kid out from under the machine. Even though his blonde hair was drenched in blood and his eyes were slightly unfocused there was absolutely no mistaking the absolute hatred in those familiar eyes.

At first Cor had thought it was a hallucination. Plenty high-ranked Niffs were blonde, many of them even bore these strange blue eyes that seemed to be tinted violet; even the kid that the spies had absconded with years ago had those same eyes. But this particular Niff seemed younger than the rest on this battlefield. He had also stormed in with nary a regard for his own life—only blazing hatred in those eyes, to the point it seemingly blinded him. The kid had talent, but the blind rushing in reminded Cor of himself. But now that he was looking at this kid, barely a day older than 19, he found himself remembering a completely different man. That noble from years ago. A man he defeated in fair combat; and since Cor had not been raised by savage beasts he had let the man go.

Turned out that surviving a battle with a loss was considered a great shame in Niflheim and it had disgraced his family. Rather than making sure the noble house lived through the fall, the man killed himself. And traumatised his child in the process.

He hadn’t thought about that poor bastard. If Cor had been in the same situation he would have stayed the hell away from weapons and the military, would have rather lived in shame than under the constant threat of death. Though, granted, he was talking about himself right now. As a teenager he would have done exactly the same as this kid—he only just now realised that he was bleeding this profusely because of a thin cut on his forehead. The kid—no, he wasn’t even a teenager, this was a young adult, just about the same age as Prince Ravus, for gods’ sake—struggled weakly against his iron grip. Cor narrowed his eyes.

“I… I’ll….” The weak struggling became a little more frantic; the kid was finally registering the danger he was in and it made his survival instinct kick in. No matter how many machines there were, Niffs sometimes proved to be surprisingly human when faced with a defeat on the battlefield. Not that there were many footsoldiers in the field any longer, given the surge of Magitek. “Kill you.”

He almost wanted to ruffle the boy’s blood-soaked hair and tell him to run along now. But considering how bent his leg was, he wouldn’t be running anywhere until another unit arrived to pick up the losses. Whoever had set up this mission, they had wanted the entire unit dead. Which, according to reports he dimly recalled, was generally how fallen nobles were treated. At least a death on a battlefield was considered honourable enough to restore their family honour.

Cor dropped the kid. The blonde bit his lip so hard it started bleeding; landing on a broken leg like that was unpleasant—but no matter how much he felt for that brat, they were still enemies and the kid had just tried to murder him in cold blood.

Gods, there was still some of that childish roundness to his eyes that even Ignis still bore now that he hit his rather unexpected growth spurt.

Cor drew his sword, the trusty sword he had picked up in the Proving Grounds as he dragged his battered, bruised and nearly broken body back to the entrance, back to where Clarus waited with a deep frown on his face.

He hated how fearless Niffs were in the face of death. No one this young should be staring at a weapon that was put on their throat with such indifference—with this almost welcoming spark in their lifeless eyes. There were fewer and fewer soldiers he came face to face with, but most of the pilots these days were barely older than the kids back at home, back at the Citadel. This could have been Gladiolus. This could have been Prince Noctis, Ignis. Besithia’s clone. Any of them could be the ones staring at him with blank eyes, blood running down their faces out of a particularly nasty cut on their forehead.

He sheathed the weapon a moment later. The blonde’s pale violet eyes widened a little.

“I don’t kill kids.”

He left with that, with the kid in question howling after him. Decried him a coward—but his voice was breaking. After about a hundred metres the kid’s body likely gave in and finally collapsed. Cor just needed to leave before the next group arrived here.

This place was lost, in any case.

* * *

“There’s no telling what will happen if you don’t.”

“Cor… you wouldn’t be pressing this matter if you didn’t think something was up. What’s on your mind?”

The king looked tired these days. Tired and old; not too far removed from his father during his final year. It hurt Cor in more ways than one knowing that Regis was only five years his senior. It seemed to extend to Clarus; those two were closer than most other people and seeing the Shield look much older than he actually was hurt as well. Noctis would be turning 16 and his father looked more like his grandfather than anything else. Gladiolus on the other hand was 19 and looked as if he could break his own father with his bare hands.

Just as they had once looked compared to their father and mother; the previous King and Shield duo.

Cor bit his lips.

This was a topic that all of them hated. The constant reminders that Noctis would not live long. If he lived too long then the world was doomed in any case. But also a child should not be the one dying to save the world. What they also should not be doing was grooming another child into a proper replacement for the kingdom to recover from losing the royal family it had had since its founding day.

“Scientia, Your Majesty.”

Other than magic sessions to make certain his talent did not go to waste, Ignis had not started properly training with weapons until two years ago. Now 18, the kid was starting to be a legitimate threat. There was something dangerous glinting in those green eyes whenever Noctis wasn’t around. When with the prince, Ignis was the gentlest person around—in the training room he turned into a madman. Many people said that training him with a pair of daggers and a lance was a waste—Ignis with a katana could easily be the second coming of the Immortal. They were both fast, they were both incredibly good at quick thinking, yet somehow they wound up going completely different ways with weapons.

The other glaring difference was that Cor hated using magic.

“What about Ignis?”

He licked his lips. This was mostly based on his experience with people thanks to his time as Marshal, but he knew that Regis valued his input. And he had seen the way Ignis reacted to being lied to. This was going to blow up—and Regis could prevent it from doing just that. There was still time. Barely. “If you delay this much longer, you will be dealing with a force of nature that despises being lied to, Regis. He’s sharp—too sharp. You could be driving him right into the arms of the enemy if he figured that as long as he kept Noctis away from his destiny he would have time to figure out a solution to this issue. You know he would drop everything to find a way.”

Regis pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “I know that. I do not miss the glances he and Noctis exchange. If I didn’t know better I would think I’m staring at Aulea and myself through an awkward lens before we admitted our feelings for one another.”

Cor hadn’t been around for that part of their relationship. It had been the queen who had eventually made the first move, after years of awkward mutual pining while simultaneously somehow managing to be best friends. He had only been around for the end of that story—taking photos when she requested. One had been her most prized possession, and Cor had put that frame in her old room after her passing. She’d been a friend of his as well.

The king leaned backwards, a deep frown on his face that told Cor everything before the man even started talking. “It’s way too late to defuse this situation.”

“You would keep that ticking time bomb live? We could give him something to work with, let him try to figure out a way—“

For the first time since he entered this room to talk, the Shield of the King moved. “And how do you propose we do that?” Clarus said, tone dangerously low. “Oh, Ignis! By the way, you can stop harrowing Noctis now, the boy will never live to take the crown. The prophecy demands he dies for Eos when eternal darkness comes, and your education has covered everything that a king would need and more; surely you can take over after Noctis’ unfortunate passing for the good of all? Or, if you would rather, we can try figuring out a way to save him; granted, success chances would be rather low. So perhaps let go of your dormant feelings—sometimes fate deals a cruel hand, but you might just figure something out. Cor. The boy would _break_ if he didn’t figure out a way to change Noctis’ fate. And I have a feeling the gods are not as kind as to grant another path without severely dangerous hoops to jump through.”

They concluded that it was impossible. They had gotten too complacent with the lies; Regis buried his face in his hands and quietly apologised to the young man and the teenager who weren’t even present. There was no saving Noctis, and there was no telling at least Ignis without the advisor going absolutely insane with either trying to figure out a solution or grief.

They would continue the lie. It wouldn’t last much longer anyway.

That was, out of all things that could have been said that day, the worst thing.

Time was running out and it was too late to change course now.

* * *

He screamed. Punched a fist into the wall, which made his old friend flinch in his seat.

“Cor. There’s no point’n screamin’.”

A sword through the back. Were preliminary reports to be believed, Clarus had died pinned to the wall by his own sword, his council robes fluttering in the morning breeze like some sort of bizarre blood-drenched butterfly. Regis meanwhile had died, the heavy cloak of scattering magic still drowning out most of the atmosphere in the room. The guards that had found them didn’t even have time to retrieve the bodies. They fled, hid with civilians in the city. Shed their clothing and put on civilian disguises, flashed fake IDs that would see them not immediately routed out by the Niflheim army that now moved in like they owned the place.

They did own the place.

Cor had ended the call and immediately slammed his fist into the wall. Noctis had been screaming. Noctis’ voice had cracked. The kid didn’t even know the worst was yet to come.

Cid only shook his head slowly. Said nothing.

Said nothing even as Cor started pacing, watched him idly when the Marshal all but stormed over to pick up his weapon again. Monica was at the outpost already. He had been given a bike by a dying soldier; getting to that tomb near Keycatrich would be easy. Noctis would need guidance, guidance that not even his perversely well-trained replacement would be able to give him. There was no telling who lived and who died. Ignis had never been particularly close to his family, and almost royal detachment keeping him away from forming closer bonds with his own damned relatives. But either way the fact that none of the council had survived and that his uncle was the one person he had been closest to remained. Even a well-groomed replacement wouldn’t be able to deal with this in a rational manner.

Gladiolus and Prompto were far from equipped to deal with this either. The king was confirmed dead, there was no way that Clarus was alive. Gladiolus knew that and he would remain silent about it as the shock and grief ate away at him until he exploded. The only one who could feasibly believe that at least his father was okay was Prompto—civilians that lived close to the city limits mostly made it out. His father already was out of the city to begin with and his mother likely at home.

“Cor.”

Oh, he was very tempted to snap at the old man as if they were on the road together again, as if he weren’t 45 and suddenly incapable of dealing with every protocol he had ever learned. He instead froze on his way out, and Cid got up.

“What’re ya gonna do, kid?”

He clenched his fists. For the first time in his life, he wanted to run. Wanted to tell the kids he’d watched grow up in the Citadel and their civilian friend to run and leave Lucis, the prophecy, the fate of the star behind and just live it out in a fishing village somewhere over in Accordo. Heavens knew that Noctis joked about it a lot—though he likely only thought about himself and Ignis doing that, living together and dying together after growing old side by side.

“Lead the cattle to the slaughter, I presume. Like a good Marshal would.”

Cid drew in a shaky breath. “Kid.”

“There’s no need to call me kid any longer, Cid. I’m old, and I’m furious that I’ll be the one outliving everything and everyone yet again. Not just King Mors. Or Regis. I’ll be _fucking_ outliving Noctis at this rate. _Noctis.”_ He once more drew a hand across his face with a shaky sigh. “It’s too late. Gears in motion. Had I been a better man, I would’ve told them kids about all of this. But no. I didn’t. So now it’s too late and the sacrifice needs a shepherd he can trust. Well, who’s better than the man he usually called uncle when he was half asleep in some hallway?”

He didn’t wait for a reply this time.

Telling any of them about the fate of the Chosen would break them all in the worst way. Worse than they were breaking right now because the only home they had ever known was a still burning ruin and the corpses of their parents weren’t even properly cold yet. He would apologise to Cid.

Later.

Unfortunately he knew that there would be a later for the two of them. Resilient bastards never died early, and Cor knew that this was some sort of divine punishment for his inability to tell the kids anything.

* * *

Noctis was devastated.

Anyone would be, really.

Cor only heard his heart pound so loudly that he assumed people would hear. Ignis had betrayed them. Ignis had betrayed them seemingly out of nowhere, and Cor knew within a heartbeat that the Imperial Chancellor Izunia was the darkness the prophecy spoke of. He almost saw himself in that office again, younger, with more fire in his bones and more hatred for the choices they had made over the heads of these children. Heard himself tell Regis that they were grooming Ignis into something that might throw itself at the enemy just to buy more time.

Cor knew what a false knee-bending looked and sounded like. Ignis Scientia, Hand of the King, suddenly drawing a weapon and holding Noctis hostage so he could get away? Even drawing a little blood?

The same kid who sneaked the prince out of the Citadel so they could sit in the park in the rain, the same teenager who so very obviously looked at the prince with emotions so intense that they couldn’t be anything but devastatingly deep-running love whenever he thought no one else was watching? The very same teenager who asked to be trained in those sorts of tactics just in case it would be required of him one day in service to the crown? The very same man who thought he and his lover were being discreet and clever?

Gods, he wanted the idiot boy to come _home._

But Ignis was going home, a darker voice whispered in his head, and Cor turned to look into the direction he knew Insomnia lay. A replacement king on a broken throne.

* * *

If nothing else, Noctis had a good head on his shoulders. Perhaps too good a head, with too big a heart. Welcoming his enemies into the heart of his country, into what was effectively a fortress against the darkness the Niffs had helped spread either willingly or unwittingly was… fascinating and incredibly stupid if someone had asked for Cor’s honest opinion. But even just a few moments later he realised that Noctis had made the absolutely correct decision, and that Regis, Clarus and he would have made the wrong one in this situation. Like so many times before.

Those people all looked surprised that they were alive. That they were allowed to heal and make a decision afterwards. The civilians were complicit in those war crimes and they knew it—but the soldiers had been fully prepared to let themselves get executed if it only meant that the civilians got out of this unharmed. He raised an eyebrow at the most prominent soldier of that group, beaten and bruised and with countless bandages uselessly dangling from heavy burn scars. Loqi Tummelt looked like a parody of a Niff noble by this point; they were known for being mostly unharmed since they stayed back and raked in all the glory.

They had left him for dead at the Blockade. The fact that he was still alive was both a surprise and rather horrifying—perhaps Cor should have done what he hadn’t done for that man’s father. But here he stood, leaning to one side because he had taken more than a few hits for the people he was trying to protect and because it was rather clear that he hadn’t really recovered yet. No one recovered from that easily. That same kid that had hissed and writhed in his grasp years ago had turned into a man who tossed his weapon again and bowed before the people of Lucis. Not to ask for forgiveness; Loqi knew that this would have been an insult after what Noctis had done for his people.

He instead swore that the Niffs would never again raise their weapons against the people of Eos. He made a promise that day.

And he tried to keep it. By the gods, the noble tried to keep it.

Cor had dealt with a fair share of nobles who made empty promises and then stomped on the common people’s heads to get what they wanted. It would have been so easy to attack these people very obviously trying to rile him up—but Loqi kept still. Hissed furiously when addressed, yes, but rather than verbally lash out, he angrily said that he should be the one to apologise. To _Cor._ It was absolutely no secret that the last living member of House Tummelt _hated_ him. Hated him so much it likely even hurt to say these kinds of things, judging from the way he stormed off afterwards.

It wasn’t until he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder that Cor stopped staring into the direction the Niff had vanished off to.

“Marshal, are you feeling alright?”

He turned around. Shot her a smile that she knew meant he was lying but did not wish to discuss this further. “Perfectly fine, Monica.”

Regis and Mors both would have never reacted like this. Cor was fairly certain that Ignis would have advised against it as well. A good ruler did not invite his enemies into sanctuaries.

What made Noctis an excellent king was the fact that he believed in the good of people when these people had long since decided they weren’t deserving of that. Somehow with a simple gesture Noctis had managed to toss a rope across the yawning abyss that divided Niflheim and the rest of Eos—and the Niffs had caught that rope and were trying to tie it to a post.

* * *

Damned Daemons. That was all he could think when he _finally_ managed to get his leg out of that thing’s maw. There was a shift in the immediate area and years of experience told him that this was going to go south very, _very_ quickly. He could move just fine with an injured leg—high pain tolerance was one hell of a drug—and he could run if necessary. But this shift wasn’t like the one that generally occurred when something bigger and higher in the hierarchy was demanding the prey the lesser Daemons were stalking.

No, this shift felt unpleasant. Unnatural.

He turned around—and his heart nearly stopped entirely.

“Marshal.”

He made certain he kept his head held high and was as unmoving as always. That was the Marshal that this man had grown up with, and perhaps it was foolish to even remotely assume that maybe, just maybe, he could sway the advisor’s betrayal and coax him into coming back home. “Ignis.” He finally made eye contact with the advisor—and wished he hadn’t. This was a far cry from the kid with a steely glare that grew up into a young man who was seemingly perfect. And he knew immediately that his suspicions were correct. He only needed a confirmation now. “Iris was fairly convinced that you were being controlled and whoever was controlling lost control over you for a second. You ran out of your own free will after you were forced to fight her – but that was not the case at all, was it?”

The cool neutrality on Ignis’ face cracked into a smile that seemed both unhinged yet apologetic at the same time. An expression very unlike the man that Cor had watched grow up. “You sound very sure of yourself.” Hells, even his voice of tone had changed. Normally Ignis sounded professional if a little distant. He sounded plain _dangerous_ right now.

Against his better judgement, Cor kept his hands away from his weapon. If this was going to turn into a fight then he would be ready for it, but right now he needed Ignis to talk. “You could fool Iris. She’s young and inexperienced, was shocked by your sudden appearance and your crass choice of words. Certainly that would have never left your mouth – as far as she knew. You were very well aware of all of this, weren’t you, Ignis?” He so very desperately wanted Ignis to say no. He wanted Iris’ theory to be true. He wanted Ignis to be a puppet on strings dancing when Ardyn told it to dance and he wanted the man to be unaware of what waited at the end of Noctis’ path.

Ignis crossed his arms and any sort of hope that Iris’ little theory was true shattered with that motion. Not that Ignis was aware of that. “And if I was?”

“It would certainly raise some other questions. First and foremost, _why?”_

“Can’t you guess?”

He didn’t have to guess. He knew, and the fact that Ignis was glaring at him coldly told Cor that he had already made a theory on who knew precisely how much. Ignis had access to the Citadel. While he wasn’t someone to break the rules on his own he gleefully broke them when Noctis was involved. Classified documents were classified for a reason, and Cor did not doubt for a second that Ignis could pacify his own conscience by claiming that it was all for Noctis. That it was all to save Noctis. “You don’t do things without weighing your options unless you’re upset. In those cases your actual age and lack of experience in most things shows, though normally there’s other people around to keep you from making atrocious decisions.” Recklessness that Cor had had once upon a time as well. He had once told Ignis that they weren’t all that unlike one another. “My guess would be it involves Noctis somehow.”

“That is quite correct, Marshal. But permit me one question: Were you aware of the fate of the Chosen?” He didn’t have to answer that. He absolutely did not have to answer that, and instead he narrowed his eyes further. Which was perhaps precisely the answer that Ignis had expected all along. “I see.”

There was no point in further delaying it. Ignis made a move—and so did Cor with a heavy sigh. They both had their hands on their weapons now; perhaps he should have been more shocked about Ignis having the Trident of the Oracle after all. But there wasn’t much he could think about as he put his hand on his trusty katana. “What is it that you hope to gain from this, Ignis? You cannot change fate. Heavens know Regis tried, over and over again.”

Ignis’ tone was perfectly flat. “What His Majesty lacked was… information. I intend to gather the intel necessary to--”

“You cannot fight the gods and the Accursed with determination alone, Ignis.”

For a heartbeat they remained there like that—and then Ignis’ face turned into a grimace. Unhinged yet so crushingly sad that it tugged at Cor’s heartstrings more than he could have ever anticipated years ago as he stood in that room with Regis and Clarus telling him that it was too late to change the path now. Had he only managed to work up the courage to go against orders, he could have prevented this. He could have prevented Ignis from running over to the enemy side. But alas, all he could do now was stare at the young man in horror as he started speaking again, his voice going from flat to somewhat cheery after a dry laugh. “Perhaps things lost at sea are not nearly as lost as you assume them to be.”

“ _You’re_ the reason no one can find the Ring of the Lucii.” That was… unexpected. But it made sense.

And the sadness dropped off Ignis’ face; it was replaced with a simmering fury that Cor had seen many times in his life. Most prominently featured on Loqi Tummelt’s face, and he knew that this would inevitably turn into a fight. “I won’t hand Noct over to the gods and the Crystal just so they can make a _sacrifice_ out of him. I swore an oath that I intend to keep; that I will keep Noct safe.”

He hated how flat his voice sounded when he said “Ignis, you’re selling all of Eos to the darkness”.

Cor fastened his grip on his katana. Ignis meanwhile nailed him with a seething glare as he leaned against the Trident of the Oracle. The advisor’s voice was still dull but there was a furious passion on his face that perfectly went with what he said. “This world means _nothing_ to me without him. Darkness, Ardyn, greed and hubris or the very gods themselves – I don’t _care_ what destroys it in the end if Noctis has to _die_ for it. But it ought to burn if that’s the price to be paid for a peace that can easily be broken again by the next _idiot_ picking a fight with the gods. I _will_ find a way to save Eos without sacrificing Noct. I just need time. I need everything to stay the same as it is until I find a solution.”

Cor so very, very desperately wanted to give him that time. Yet at the same time there was absolutely no way Ignis would figure out a solution all on his own on enemy ground. Especially not when his face already was scarred like that. He would only be marching to his death and he would be selling the world out at the same time. “Keeping your enemies closer than your friends… Ignis, the road to hellfire is paved with good intentions, but what you’re doing is _suicidal.”_ He could only repeat what Iris said a lot. What she said she was going to make Ignis do. “Come _home.”_

He watched Ignis grab his weapon. Watched in horror as green flame lit up the tip of that weapon that should have been in Ravus’ hands. Ignis remained stoically cold and collected. “No. Indulge me in a fight for the old time’s sake; if you win, drag me _home_ , toss me in a gaol, chain me up and _beat_ the location of the Ring of the Lucii out of me. If I win… we’ll see.”

No words would have swayed Ignis after all. He had made his decision—and it was the decision that Cor had feared all along, years ago. Gods, he cursed himself for not going against orders.

He drew his weapon rather than saying anything else.

* * *

Just as all the times he oversaw Ignis’ training proper it turned into a dance. Ignis was skilled but there was something new in his fighting style that didn’t sit quite right with Cor. Something… feral. Something terrifying.

No, something _terrified._

He was good with the trident, he had always been good with lances. If any of those people who had lamented the fact that he had chosen these weapons rather than the same light swords that Cor wielded they would all be quiet and in awe now. If this weren’t effectively a battle to the death, Cor would have tried to tell Ignis that his form was good. Old habits died hard, he reckoned, and almost wanted to chastise himself for getting sentimental in this situation. Maybe he knew that if this continued he wouldn’t be able to outlast Ignis.

He was still bleeding. They were both bleeding now, but Cor had started this already bleeding. A simple leg injury would have the Immortal bleed to death. How ironic. After all those other things, it wouldn’t even be a person who killed him. It would be a damned Daemon injury.

Steps joined them, and they both held their attacks.

“Not quite the sight I expected to behold on this _fine_ day.” Ignis _froze,_ the fury on his face giving way to complete and utter terror that he tried to mask as he turned to look at the newcomer. “Don’t look at me like _that._ I am simply here to sate my own curiosity.”

What had been a controlled, impressive battle just before turned into Ignis blindly lashing out with a weapon. Cor parried these blows, his mind reeling as he caught up to what had just happened in these past seconds. Ardyn Izunia had arrived. It had completely thrown Ignis off. He might have bent his knee to the man to buy some more time, but Ignis had apparently bit off more than he could chew. Suddenly all those new scars on his face and his arms made sense. The weapon made sense. After all, as Ravus had reported, Ardyn had been there in Altissia. Had been at the Altar of the Tidemother, even. Rather than merely sweeping Ignis away the man had also collected the dead Lunafreya’s heirloom weapon.

“You’re angry, aren’t you? This man who knew _all along_ what would happen to _dear Noctis._ This man who helped make you a replacement. If you lose, he drags you back to where you no longer belong. You’ve crossed quite a few lines in the last year, lines that should have never been crossed in the first place.”

Ignis’ concentrated look had turned into blind horror now. He attacked blindly. Heavy swings that were easy to dodge, thankfully, even though every fast movement made the world around him spin by now. Blood loss. Exhaustion. Now that there was someone else in the mix, Cor knew would not be walking away from this alive. Especially not since Ardyn was trying to coax Ignis into killing him.

Something he would have deserved, all things considered.

“Go ahead. Show him what you truly think of any of this. Vent your frustration! Break his legs! Shatter his fingers one by one! Do what Gilgamesh should have done thirty odd years ago!”

All things he would have deserved. For a long, long moment Ignis stared at him. It was easy to see that he did indeed want to lash out violently. Perhaps Ignis wouldn’t be breaking his fingers one by one, but there were quite a few things that he wanted to say.

Cor kept parrying him as Ignis clearly fought with tears while attacking.

In the end, it was the fact that he had lost quite a lot of blood already that did him in. His leg gave in, just in time for Ignis to land a jab that sent Cor crashing to the ground with a grunt. He almost saw stars when Ignis stomped his foot down on Cor’s chest.

“I never… wanted to _replace_ anyone,” Ignis spat out—it sounded like a plea for help rather than anything else. “I only wanted to stand beside the throne. Beside _him.”_

“Is that all you want to say? If you’ve said your piece…” And there it was. That was the tone of someone about to order a murder. _“_ _G_ _et rid of the trash.”_

Ignis stared at Cor for the longest time. It was rather clear that Ignis was scared of disobeying that order, but there were some things that couldn’t just be erased. Cor had been around for most of the young man’s childhood. He had been the one to catch him and Noctis many times whenever they managed to flee the Citadel thanks to Ignis’ lovingly and crafty plans. So many times had Noctis giggled from his side while Ignis took the blame. So many times had he wound up sitting on the train with the prince and the future advisor by his sides—once someone had commented on his sons sounding like a handful.

Cor held his breath as he looked up at the kid turned warrior turned traitor.

Ignis tossed the Trident of the Oracle to the side and backed away. Cor let out the breath he had been holding and sat up, even if it nearly made him throw up.

He barely even registered what happened next until the boot hit his face and smashed him back to the ground. Then right after that, his body screeched in agony as something tore through his shoulder. Cor barely even had the energy to thrash around and a screeching noise filled his ears. Whatever happened next he missed it completely as Ardyn yanked that trident out of him only to plunge it back into his already injured leg. Cor had no delusions about surviving this now, but he realised that in the very unlikely event that he would, the leg would have to be taken off to save his life. Something he had seen countless times since he joined the Crowsguard.

Ardyn crushed Cor’s wrist. Somehow that hurt more than the holes the man had pierced into his shoulder and leg. “I see. Well then, perhaps we ought to _intensify_ your training upon our return. But for now.”

Ignis was backing away. Strange that the world suddenly seemed so sharp and clear that Cor could see and hear everything perfectly as Ardyn started talking again. He felt like he had found himself in a documentary all of a sudden—with the predator crouched on top of him, a smile on his face as he started talking with a voice that sounded way too gentle for what the man said.

“But for now… Cor the Immortal. Marshal of the Crownsguard. Bane of the Niflheim army. The first member of the Crownsguard to ever walk out of calling a prince a coward with a _promotion._ A sign of hope, of resistance. Supporter of not one king, not two kings, but no less than three kings. Lestallum and its king depend on you. Oh, it would be fun to send you back to him in pieces. One by one. A finger one morning. Half a leg one afternoon.” Ignis violently gagged mid-speech, and Ardyn rolled his eyes. “What a bad time to remember you have a conscience, Ignis. Truly unfortunate. It is simply too late for you to turn back now.”

Well. He couldn’t get Ignis to go to Lestallum while alive. Maybe it would work as a dying order. “Ignis. Go _home.”_

Ardyn clicked his tongue and immediately smashed a hand across Cor’s mouth. The world went from too bright and too starkly clear to very, very dull. Cor barely heard the next words. “How touching. Send the boy home as if he isn’t complicit in your _murder._ How disgustingly noble of you, Marshal Leonis. But I’m quite afraid that he softened you up just enough for you to face your maker now. Any other last words?”

The hand lifted. Cor definitely saw that the man instead put it on the Trident of the Oracle.

Well, at least he wasn’t going to be tortured to death.

But Ignis. Ignis could still return home. Ignis could still try to change the fate that awaited the chosen—he certainly was intelligent enough to do that.

But perhaps most important of all, he didn’t have to be a replacement.

“Ignis. You can still—”

Go home. Change fate. Do what you need to do. Decide against being the replacement.

Do better than we did.

Cor never got to say any of this.


End file.
